Moments Are Timeless
by Veronica Lacroix
Summary: Patience is a virtue and a revelation is life-changing between a man and an angel. Slash. Slight drabble, oneshot, but potential to be more.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim any part of the show Supernatural, its producers, Eric Kripke or the CW.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so a thousand words is a little much to be drabble, but that's what this started out as. Anyway. Can I just express how much I enjoyed writing this? I'm so excited to share it with you. I adore Sastiel or Sassy or whatever you want to call Sam/Castiel. I feel like I abused a thesaurus for imagery, but I hope its not lost on you readers. I tried to stay within a Castiel-style voice, sometimes even from Sam's pov, did I do it? If you all like it, and I get warranted feedback, I might extend this to include... well, more. -sly wink- Enjoy!

* * *

><p>.~*~.<p>

When you have grace, time is both everything and nothing. You are more patient because it is almost meaningless to be otherwise. In heaven, time is inconsequential. You see the past, the future and the present not as separate entities but one continuous, interchangeable loop. Years pass like the beat of wings, or one moment stretching for a millenia.

Here on earth, time is master and mortality is its slave. Humans scurry like rats in a maze, racing against time – which is a ludicrous concept because time is infinite and humans are limited. They stare at their clocks in panic and fear, screaming injustice at the speed and yet do very little with the time that has been given them. They rush and push and dismay but are motionless in the span of eternity.

Castiel tries very hard not to give into those mortal propensities and attempts to remember that time _must_ have significance here. He is connected with humanity more than ever in this moment. This moment that seems tormentingly long and in the back of his mind, he's counting the seconds. But he must give pause and be amicable and allow the man in front of him to waste time if he so chooses, allow him to take in the words the angel has just spoken.

"You love me, Sam Winchester."

It isn't a question nor is it quite a declaration. The tonality doesn't suggest that Castiel needs confirmation but conveys a sense of direction. It is a confession of sorts, expressed in that austere manner that is natural to him. He stands several feet away from the object of his admission, arms straight at his side, shoulders square. It's a bit unnerving to the other man, although he's not unfamiliar with Castiel's candidness. His first issue is that the angel is not portraying one way or another how he _feels_ about this realization of Sam's affections.

In a different state of mind, Castiel would have made his assumptions known and then proceeded immediately to the course of action he felt was best. But he cannot do so in this instance. He reminds himself that humans are delicate, that matters of the heart must be weighed before they can make any honest decisions. Otherwise, they are as likely to bury and deny sensitive accusations as they are likely to open up. He must wait because more than he wants his selfish outcome, he wants Sam to be truthful. His tenure with the Winchesters has created a bond inside Castiel, a better understanding of the inner workings of people and more surprising, himself.

Sam feels as though he should be sweating bullets. The impassiveness with which Castiel regards him is making his thought process confusing. Should he just be accepting to it and then move along as though the observation didn't rock the boat? Or was it better to lie? Sam grimaced inwardly at the thought – lying to Castiel seemed like a traitorous thing to do. He's nearly on the verge of simply turning tail and run and wondering if that was in the _literal_ sense, when Castiel's expression changes. His brows pull together slightly and the coldness starts to dissolve from his stare. It's minimal, but Sam with his conversance of the angel knows that he's showing interest. He _wants_ an answer.

Sam moves imperceptibly toward him, his mouth parting as though he meant to speak. His first instinct is to apologize as if his emotions were somehow offending Castiel. He'd been doing his best to keep this under wraps, to shield his feelings for all of their sakes, Dean's included. In spite of his brother's frivolous activities, he was of a 'you don't mix business and pleasure' mindset. There were times when he bent his own rules to an extent that gave him lee-way for an evening with an attractive woman, but Sam had no such intentions with Castiel. All he could manage was a nod in his direction.

Castiel felt his shoulders relax and hadn't been aware until then that he'd been anxious in his wait. Relief washed over him because he knew now that he no longer had to be precarious with behavior toward Sam. For as soon as he'd come to know that Sam felt something deeper than friendship and alliance for him, he understood the emotions that had been troubling himself. He was fond of Dean as well and his compassion for the elder Winchester was strong, but he felt differently for the other. That that underlying pull to be near him was a natural by-product of love. Love in a romantic sense, even.

His grace allowed time to be kind to him. By restraining himself, he could plainly see the honesty in Sam's agreement. Now the concept of it could be overlooked and he had no use for his maddening patience any longer. He crossed the room until he stood merely inches in front of the man and his cobalt-blue eyes locked with sea-green, surrendering to that magnetic pull. He lifted his hand to Sam's cheek, edging the angle of his head to accommodate him. Then he pressed his mouth to his, exactly as he'd witnessed a thousand times before. He was impressed by the lack of indifference – as he felt with doing most things humans did - the sensation he was feeling had. It felt _good_, pleasurable.

Sam had felt the air stir by the time Castiel's lips landed on his. Instead of cowering as he had figured he was more apt to do, he was doing _just_ as he imagined. He kissed him back, matching the pressure and raised his own hands, cupping his jawline. He was even so bold as to tilt slightly and run his tongue over his lower lip. He had wanted to kiss him for so now that it completely slipped his mind to think of _why_ Castiel was kissing him. But then, the angel's lips parted and Sam was able to explore inside while his hand moved from cheek to the base of his neck, gripping him. Then it was suddenly apparent. Castiel wanted this just as much as he did.

By the grace of God, Sam could not remember how long that kiss lasted. It was not of import.

.~*~.


End file.
